Page 3 of The Highlander’s Enchanted Healer (Spellbound Hearts #2)

I stared into the crowd of people chattering, smiling, and dancing, feeling, as I often did, as if I were disconnected from the world around me.

My life consisted of one thing: seeking retribution.

The reel had begun at the far end of the MacLeod’s great hall, and with it came a swell of laughter and clapping, the stamping of boots on the wood-planked floor, and the brief shriek of a harp string tuned too sharp.

Midway through the second verse, I noticed two women emerging from the crowd, skirts gathered above the rushes, cheeks pink from mead and the rising heat.

One had her dark hair pulled into a severe knot at the nape of her neck.

The other lass had golden hair. She was flushed, and her locks hung like ripened barley at harvest. The women moved past a clump of old men by the tallow candles, then angled toward us at the supper table.

“Laird Campbell,” the fair-haired lass said as she came to a stop directly in front of me, “would ye care to dance with me?”

“And would ye care to dance with me, Allan Campbell?” the other woman asked my brother.

Allan was on his feet before the lass had completed her sentence. “I’d be delighted,” he crowed, taking her hand. He turned to me with a beseeching look. “My brother would be honored as well, would ye nae, Ross?”

I forced what I hoped resembled a polite smile. “I fear nae. I’m poor company for dancing tonight.” I motioned down the table assigned to me and my men for supper. “Perhaps one of my men would—”

“We were hoping for the Campbell brothers specifically,” the dark-haired lass interrupted, offering me a pout.

“I could dance with ye both?” Allan offered, eagerness in his words.

“We need two partners,” the blond lass said, arching her eyebrows at me before looking back to Allan. “When ye’ve persuaded yer brother to be less of a bore, come find me.” She flashed a final smile at me. “I’ll be waiting, Laird Campbell.”

They departed in a rustle of skirts and knowing giggles, leaving Allan staring after them before he dropped back onto the bench beside me with a growl.

“God’s blood, Ross, would it kill ye to dance with a bonny lass?

” he demanded, picking up his goblet of wine, downing it, and slamming the goblet down.

“We did nae come to Dunvegan to dance,” I reminded him.

“Speak for yerself,” he snapped, sweeping his hand toward the room. “The MacLeods have invited the bonniest lasses in the Highlands to this festival.”

“We’re nae here for the lasses,” I replied, offering yet another reminder of our purpose.

He shot me a grin I knew was meant to persuade me. “I ken yer tricks,” I growled. “I used them all before my selfishness cost our parents their lives and got Alba ravished.”

Allan scowled. “Some of us still recall what lust feels like.”

Thor, who sat directly to my right, chuckled.

I turned to scowl at him. He knew better than to encourage Allan.

The man had been my da’s right hand, and now he was mine, so he’d seen me at my worst, and he knew what we now faced.

His face flushed, and he suddenly found great interest in the food on his trencher.

“We came to find a healer for Alba,” I said, voice lowered but words pointed. “And as I already told ye, the MacLeods have a healer rumored to work wonders with ailments of the mind. That’s our purpose here, nae carousing.”

Allan’s expression softened at the mention of our sister.

Even he, with his endless thirst for pleasure, grew solemn and serious when thinking on Alba’s continued mind ailment.

I knew as well as Allan that she was trapped in mental torment.

And it was Ramsey Gordon’s fault. He was the one who sent men to lie in wait to attack Alba, our mama, and our da six years ago, as they traveled to take Alba to wed Roger Fergusson after the alliance with Ramsey’s stepbrother, Fergus, ended with Fergus’s death by poison the very day he was to wed Alba.

My teeth clenched thinking on the past and my need for vengeance burned hot.

Allan cleared his throat, bringing my attention back to the present. “Aye,” he said, “we did come for Alba. But that does nae mean we must sit here turning away bonnie lasses.”

“Enjoy yerself as ye see fit,” I conceded. “I’m nae stopping ye.”

“Ye’re certainly making it harder. Ye could have danced.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping further. “Ye used to know how to enjoy yerself, too, Brother. Or have ye forgotten?”

The barb struck deeper than he knew. I had not forgotten. That was the curse of it. I recalled all too well the selfish, careless man who’d put his own pleasure above duty.

“The memory is my waking shadow,” I assured him, the words tasting like ash. “I do nae ever forget what my choices cost our family.”

A heavy silence fell between us. Six years had passed, but the wound remained fresh.

If I had not been whoring the day my parents took Alba to wed Roger Fergusson, if I had not been so often drinking so much wine that my brain was foggy, and if I had not failed to suspect some evil plot was afoot by Ramsey Gordon, if I had been with my family as duty demanded, perhaps I could have protected them when the Gordon warriors had attacked.

Mayhap my parents would still draw breath and Alba would do more than sit in her chamber, not speaking, just humming to herself as she stared out windows, seeing horrors none of us could dispel.

“Ye can nae blame yerself forever, Ross,” Allan said finally, softer than before. “What happened to our parents, to Alba…it was the Gordons’ doing, nae yers.”

“And yet I was nae there,” I countered, the familiar guilt coiling around my throat. “I chose pleasure over duty, and they paid the price. I’ll nae make that mistake again.”

“I was nae there, either!”

“Aye, but ye were away apprenticing to hone yer fighting skills. I was home and nae being the son I should have been.” I had spent my youth rebelling against being the man my da had wanted me to be.

I thought Da stifling, too demanding, too strict, too hard on me, but after the attack, after his death, I could clearly see he had been desperately trying to make me into a strong leader, a man the clan could count on.

It would be my regret until the day I died that I had not become the man he’d hoped I’d be until after he was gone.

He’d wanted me to put the clan first, and I had pushed back against that, purposely putting myself first. I used to blame him for demanding and not asking, but he should not have had to ask or demand at all.

I should just have done it, accepted my responsibility gladly.

It was a privilege to be laird, not a millstone hung around my neck.

Allan sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “So ye’ll punish yerself by refusing all joy until…when? Until ye’ve killed every Gordon that walks this Earth?”

“Nay,” I said with a shake of my head. “Nae every Gordon. Just Ramsey, who gave the order for his men to attack Mama and Da and violate Alba, and any Gordon warrior who does nae bend the knee once I take control of their castle. Oh—” I snapped my fingers “—and that lying priest, Father James, who said he saw Da put something in the wedding communion wine. Lying, Godless man.” Both Allan and I spit toward the ground at the same time to show our disrespect for Father James.

“Da would want ye to wed, to have an heir,” Allan said.

I nodded. “Aye, he would, but nae while Alba still suffers, nae while our parents’ murderers still go free.”

“Ye could get yerself killed in the war with Gordon.”

“Aye, I could, and it would nae be any less than I deserve. And if I do, I have every faith ye will wed and produce an heir to follow ye in being laird.”

Allan shook his head. “I’d make a terrible laird.”

“Currently, but I do nae doubt that ye’d rise to the occasion.

” Despite Allan’s constant whoring, which resembled what I’d done before the attack on our family, Allan never put women above duty.

He was not trying to rebel, as I had been back then.

He simply knew he could be irresponsible at times because I was always going to be responsible now.

“Ye can be responsible and bed a lass,” he said, as if he’d read a bit of my thoughts.

“I do nae have either the time or inclination for wooing,” I replied.

“I said bed a lass, nae woo her.” He made a derisive noise and reached for a chicken leg from his trencher.

“Ye speak as though ye need to choose between vengeance and living. Ye do nae.” He tore into the meat with gusto before continuing.

“Ye do nae need wooing or love, Brother. Just a bit of flirting and rolling in the hay naked would do ye good.”

Thor spit his mead out all over his trencher, and I shot Allan a warning look. “Mind yer words.”

“Fine, fine,” Allan said, waving a hand at me. “I’ll nae say any more, but I do nae think it’s healthy to ignore yer lust. It makes ye grouchy.”

“I’m nae grouchy. And honestly, there has nae been a woman since Mama and Da died whom I felt tempted enough by to break my vow to avenge them before thinking of my own desires again.”

Thor’s snort drew my attention to him. “What?” I demanded.

He lowered the hunk of bread that had been halfway to his mouth. “Ye’re grouchy, but I’d be testy, too, if I had the responsibilities ye did. And as far as nae being tempted to break yer vow, that’s because the right woman has nae crossed yer path.”

“Aye!” Allan agreed too quickly and enthusiastically for my liking.

I clenched my teeth. “Even if a woman who stirred me did cross my path, I’d simply ignore it.”